Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Text or call when you can.”
“I will.”
“Love you, sweets.”
“Love you too.” The call ends, and I shove my phone into the bottom of a vanity drawer. Not that I expect my mother to come in while I’m showering, but it’s not worth the risk. That phone is my connection to the man I love, and I’ll protect it, him, and his family at all costs. I just hope the price isn’t too high.
I spent the day locked in my room like a moody-ass teenager. My mother didn’t grace me with her presence again, not that I expected her to. She issued her demand and to her, that’s good enough. I took a long, hot shower, napped, and then took another shower because my hair was a hot mess from falling asleep on it wet. I debated trying to make it work, but Ryder’s right. I can be mouthy, but I don’t want to push my mother too far.
I know what she’s capable of.
My heart squeezes in my chest when I think about my older brother. I miss him something fierce. I hate how he was just wiped from our lives. One day he was here, and gone the next. Suddenly, the pictures are gone, and I’m not allowed to talk about him or acknowledge that I miss him. He was older than me, but I still feel as though a piece of me is missing. I didn’t really understand the feeling until I met Ryder. There is twelve years between him and his oldest brother Orrin, but they still have that sibling bond.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I take one last look in the mirror. My hair is pulled up in a French twist, and the little black dress I chose is a classic. I forgo heels and instead slip my feet into a pair of black flats. With a heavy sigh, I turn off the light and make my way downstairs. I’m ready to get this night over with, and if I’m lucky, I can go out after and see Ryder.
As I descend the stairs, I hear voices. One is my father. His deep baritone is not hard to miss. A cackle of laughter that causes chills to race down my spine is my mother. Her laugh is the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.
There are others. Male voices that I don’t recognize, and something that feels an awful lot like a knife twisting in my chest stops me. I breathe through the disappointment. How naïve of me to assume this was a true family dinner. Squaring my shoulders, I steel my resolve and step into the dining room.
“There she is, my little girl.” My father boasts a smile as he greets me.
All eyes turn my way, and I smile politely and give a small wave. “Father.” I stride over to where he sits at the head of the table and kiss his offered cheek. That’s what's expected of me, after all. It’s been ages since the man has spoken to me, yet here, in front of his guests, he wants to be the doting father.
It makes me sick, but I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. “Mother.” I smile, as I’ve been trained to do, just like a puppy. I move to take the seat next to my mother, but she shakes her head, and that’s when I go on full alert.
“Your usual seat is fine, dear,” she tells me.
Dear? Looks like mother is really laying it on thick tonight. I wonder if the two of them plan their attacks on me before they happen. I glance across the table where I normally sit. The seat is occupied, the one next to it is open, and then the one next to it is occupied. I’m not stupid. I can read between the lines. My mother wants me seated between these two unknown gentlemen.
That’s when it hits me.
This is a setup.
My stomach rolls. All I want to do is run away. I want to run to Ryder and stay in his arms for an eternity. Knowing if I cause a scene, there will be hell to pay, I play nice. With a nod to my mother, I step back around the table to take my seat. The guy sitting closest to my dad rises and pulls my chair out for me.
“Thank you,” I mumble, trying to be polite. It’s not his fault my parents are hateful monsters. I take my seat and place my hands on my lap like the good little daughter they’re expecting me to be.
“John, Mike, this is my daughter, Jordyn. She just came back from two years abroad for fashion design.”
John, the one who pulled my chair out for me, turns to face me and smiles. “Nice to meet you.” He offers me his hand, and I hesitate before taking it and returning the sentiment, even though I don’t mean a damn word of it.